Forrest House by E.M. Hamill #BlogTour #OtherWorldsInk #LGBTQ+ #Fantasy #Mystery #Thriller #Romance #NewRelease

Moonbeams over Atlanta welcomes E.M. Hamill to the blog. On January 11, 2026, she released Forrest House, a standalone Mystery-Thriller, romance novel. Enjoy!

BOOK BLURB

Ander Forrest renounced blood magic to become a nurse-healer in his rural hometown, far from the drama of wizardry and espionage his sister Kate craved. When Kate goes missing in action, Ander finds himself the legal guardian of her gifted twins and receives a cryptic warning from Kate’s husband to protect them before he, too, disappears.

Six months later, his former lover crash lands in the kids’ bedroom via a spell only Ander’s sister could have cast. Druid Cai Piper doesn’t remember how he got there, but he knows he never stopped loving Ander, and that he was sent to protect him and the twins. Cai is strangely drawn to Forrest House and the land it stands upon.

With the secrets of a clandestine wizards’ order hanging between them, Cai and Ander must remember how to trust each other as sinister forces move against the Forrest family—magical terrorists who want to exploit their rare sorcery and bring the world to its knees.

Buy Links:
Universal | Goodreads


EXCERPT

Cai slept the rest of the afternoon. Ander managed to distract the twins from sneaking into their uncle’s room by helping them make chocolate chip cookies. As snow-blue darkness began to gather in the valley, he peered into the guest room again.

His bloodstained long coat was draped over the footboard. Cai sat on the side of the bed, his drooping head leaning in his hands. It was a disconcerting flashback of the night Ander left their flat. That scene was seared into his conscience like a brand.

“Headache?” Ander asked softly. Cai startled, raised his head quickly, and winced.

“Blinding,” he admitted.

“Here. You need to drink water.” Ander uncapped the bottle and handed it to Cai. “You took a nasty hit to the head. I healed the cut, but it’s a bad bruise. I have some acetaminophen—paracetamol—if you want it.”

“Not yet.” He drank deeply and stood, unfolding his tall frame with caution. “The vertigo is gone.”

“Good.” They stared at each other for a long moment. Ander’s insides still did flip-flops beneath Cai’s golden-brown gaze, bringing warmth to his cheeks.

Cai cleared his throat. “You said I’m in America?”

“Yeah.”

“And if I was sent by a bloodspell, does that mean Remy and Raven are here?”

“Well, of course.” Ander blinked as Cai closed his eyes and sighed. He wasn’t sure if it was relief or defeat. “You didn’t know,” he said.

“No. Edwyn kept it a secret, even from me.” His fingers touched the blood-matted knot at the back of his head in tentative exploration. “I must have been out. I would never have let him send me otherwise. He was bleeding badly.” His hand tapped an area high and to the outside on his left leg. “Shot in the thigh.”

Ander thought of all the major blood vessels there and breathed a plea to the Goddess that none were severed. “I didn’t think the Fellowship used bullets.”

“We don’t. We were on a joint mission with intelligence agents. Someone started lobbing spells at us and our allies turned and shot each other. He was hit in the crossfire.”

“A Judas spell?” Ander frowned.

“I think so.”

“Were you working with British intelligence?”

Cai opened his mouth to answer, then flinched and rubbed both sides of his head. “Some of my memories are missing. It’s painful to think about.”

“I think you might have a concussion.”

“Maybe. But this feels more like it was blocked by a spell.”

“By Edwyn?”

“I don’t think he would have had time. Not surrounded by guns and magic.” His breath became uneven again, and he sat unsteadily on the bed. “The harder I try to think about it, the more it hurts.”

“Don’t try right now.” Ander came closer and put his fingers under Cai’s jaw, forcing him to look up so he could peer into his eyes. Still no signs of a more serious head injury, but he wasn’t satisfied until he ran his fingers under Cai’s clotted hair to cradle the bruised lump beneath his palm, his senses open for new bleeding. He didn’t discover any.

Cai stared at him as he pulled away, his face inches from Ander’s. They both became aware at the same time of how close he was standing, his hands gentle on the back of Cai’s head as if he were going to draw him into a kiss. Ander slowly stepped back.

“I have to find a way to get back to…” Cai frowned. “To…damn it! They took that, too. I don’t know where we were.” He looked to Ander with a desolate gaze. “I don’t even know if Edwyn’s alive.”

“You can’t ask the Fellowship?”

He stiffened. “No, I can’t.”

“I’d feel better if I could get you to a hospital.”

“I’ll be fine. I think it’s clear I’m meant to protect you and the twins.”

“Protect us from what?” He sat on the bed next to him. “What’s going on, Cai? Why wouldn’t Ed tell you where the kids were?”

He didn’t answer, his gaze slipping sideways.

Ander had not missed this infuriating silence. Kate had pushed Ander away with it, Edwyn maintained it, and Cai had used it to shut down questions when they were together.

He’d left Wales and come home because the people he loved most in the world could barely talk to him unless he was inducted into the Fellowship.

Fury rose in scarlet floods with Cai’s refusal to speak. Ander let it crest. “That’s fantastic. Of course you can’t say anything. Then tell me how to protect them and get the fuck out.”

“You don’t—”

“They’re all I have left of Kate! I need to know how to protect them!”

“If you’re going to shout at me, then I will take that paracetamol now.” His voice was soft, defeated. A crease furrowed the skin between his brows, and the tight lines of his body spoke of more pain than a headache. Ander didn’t have to imagine the grief of not knowing if his brother was dead or alive. He knew only too well.

“I’m sorry.” Ander exhaled, forcing himself to calm. “We aren’t done,” he said in a less strident tone. “You will tell me what’s going on. Fuck the Fellowship and your code of secrecy! Those kids are my priority now. They’ve already lost their mother, and now maybe their father. No more.”

To his surprise, Cai nodded. “I promise I will tell you what I know.”

Disconcerted by his unexpected victory, Ander reluctantly let his anger drain away.

“Are you hungry? I’m making dinner.”

“Starving. I can’t recall when I last ate anything.”

“It’ll be ready in half an hour. Make sure you drink the rest of that water.” He turned to go.

“Ander.” Cai’s expression was gentle as Ander looked back over his shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too.” The flutters inside were ridiculous despite the tug of war between Ander’s anger and worry.


Buy Links:
Universal | Goodreads

AUTHOR BIO

Award- winning author Elisabeth “E.M.” Hamill is a nurse by day, unabashed geek, chocoholic, sci fi and fantasy novelist by nights, weekends, and whenever it’s possible to steal quality time with a laptop.

Lisa lives with their family, two dogs, and a cat in the wilds of eastern suburban Kansas, where they fend off flying monkey attacks and prep for the zombie apocalypse.

Author Website | Author Facebook (Personal) | Author Facebook (Author Page) | Author Instagram | Author Goodreads | Author Liminal Fiction (LimFic.com) | Author QueeRomance Ink | Author Amazon

The Talking Cure (The Sean Joye Investigations 02) by Kathy L. Brown #BlogTour #OtherWorldsInk #LGBTQ+ #Fantasy #Mystery #Supernatural #NewRelease

Moonbeams over Atlanta welcomes Kathy L. Brown to the blog. On November 25th, 2025, she recently released The Talking Cure, which is the second book in The Sean Joye Investigations series. You do not need to read the first book in the series, The Big Cinch, to enjoy this one.

BOOK BLURB

Haunted woman claws her way back to reality by reconnecting with her magical powers in The Talking Cure, a supernatural Yuletide follow-up to The Big Cinch.

Committed to an insane asylum, Violet Humphrey is isolated on the Illinois prairie with only her own thoughts and a persistent new voice in her head for company. When she is accused of murder, Violet suspects her road to both freedom and recovery lies through confronting her painful past and solving the crime. Magically summoned, Sean Joye skids through an ice storm to help Violet, but can they catch the killer and defy an eldritch horror before Violet loses her tenuous grasp on reality?

“The Talking Cure is a marvelous story—an Agatha Christie-style murder mystery infused with a strong sense of the Weird… and a hearty dose of magic on the side. It’s ideal for all fans of the sinister, the surprising, and the strange.”

—Cherie Priest, award-winning author of Boneshaker

SERIES BLURB

The Sean Joye Investigations series embeds readers in a magic-laced 1920s era St. Louis. The world has barely survived a brutal global war, disease pandemic, and rampant ethnic violence. The cosmic balance is off kilter, and corrupt energies seep through widening cracks in reality. That foul rot has touched Sean Joye in myriad ways. A disillusioned veteran of 1922’s Irish Civil War, he traveled to America to escape supernatural attention, forget his assassin past, and forge a clean new life. Can Sean now master the magical abilities he has rejected for so long in time to protect the innocent and save his own skin?

Warnings: suicidal ideations, references past harm to child

Buy Links:
Universal


EXCERPT

Cold air invaded the room, and the flames crackled in greeting. Out in the foyer, I could hear Carrie as she passed off the arriving board members’ coats and bags to an orderly dragooned into footman duty—“Good evening, Doctor. Ah, Doctor, you remember Doctor? And here’s Doctor, right on time.”

I scooted as far away from Dr. Elsass as I could, making for the Christmas tree in front of the parlor windows. Its sharp green scent tried its best to counter the guests’ stench. As much as I avoided the director, I could still hear him chirping in the background. “We’ll talk about that, of course.” His voice dropped to a whisper, but the words flew across the room to me like bright budgies. “Do you think that wise, Emerson? She is in a most fragile state.”

I found Nurse Martin leading my other roommate, Berta, and two additional patients in tree decoration. “Ah, Violet, thanks for joining us.” She held out a sturdy cedar ornament. “Care to help?”

I took it and clung to its warm scent for protection, but despite knowing better—the men would just upset me—I couldn’t help watching their dispute. Dr. Elsass was a chess master, and we were all merely pieces in play. Even this Emerson fellow.

“Don’t you believe in your Talking Cure? She seems much better to me.” Emerson glanced down at his wife and grinned, showing lots of teeth.

The rumor among the maids and kitchen staff was that Blanche was besotted with our therapist, Dr. Ibrahim Cole. Although she was here for “female hysteria”— whatever that was—I had never met a less hysterical female.

Blanche diligently ignored her husband and Dr. Elsass, engrossed as she was in the sketchbook that was never far from her side.

“Aren’t you, darling?” Emerson said, paying no attention to her activity. “Wouldn’t you like a break from chewing off Cole’s ear? You can talk to me if you feel down in the mouth.”

Blanche looked up. “I would like to see my dog.”

Ah, I thought. She was paying attention. I bet she notices more than she lets on.

“See? She’s fine.” Emerson exclaimed to Dr. Elsass, as if he’d cured her female hysteria himself.

“Perhaps a weekend pass,” the director mused, pretending to consider the matter. “We’ll discuss it at the staff meeting. Mrs. Emerson has made remarkable progress, it is true.” He glanced around the room, caught my eye, and beamed. Damn. “And speaking of remarkable progress, you know Mrs. Humphrey, I’m sure.”

Emerson strode across the room and held out his hand. “Percy Emerson. We’ve met, but you may not remember. I knew your father from the Piasa Club.”

I made myself take his hand, briefly, despite his rotten odor. And the maggots I could see writhing about on his palm. Not real, I told myself. Not real. “Please call me Violet.”

“And you should call me Percy. I’m…Sorry for your loss.”

I nodded and made for the tea cart, aiming for a napkin to wipe his stench off my skin. My losses were many. To which did he refer?

Percy drifted back to Dr. Elsass and winked. “Nice try. As I was saying, Blanche is much more…tractable…than before.” He patted his wife on the head. “But your cure takes an awful lot of time and buckets of cash—who’s to say she wouldn’t have snapped out of it on her own?”

For her part, Blanche seemed oblivious to the conversation that was transpiring, intent as she was on sketching the Christmas tree. Percy at last noticed the sketchbook on his wife’s lap. “That’s nice, honey. Gonna puts some colors on there? Lots of green and red?”

She looked up at him, her face blank. Eventually, she said, “Do you think I should? I was interested in the pattern, you see, the way the light—”

“Oh, yes, definitely. Christmas trees are green. With red balls. That might be good enough for a holiday card, if you color it up right.” To Dr. Elsass, he said, “Nice little scam you got going here, doc.” His voice boomed over the chittering noise of the room. “Well played.”

The guests ceased their conversations and turned to the two men. Dr. Elsass and Percy stared at each other for a long minute. At last, the director laughed out loud. “Ah, Mr. Emerson. Always a kidder, as the young people say.”

The room grew darker as the afternoon faded, with just the glow of the hearth and the  lights on the Christmas tree. When a fresh contingent of board members lumbered into the parlor, the parrot squawked, and the elderly tree trimmers equally took fright. Dr. Elsass approached the new arrivals, arms outstretched. “Come in, gentlemen. Have a hot drink. There will be ‘something stronger,’ and a fine meal presently.”

Suddenly, a passing shadow blocked the glow from the fireplace, a darkness that smelled of decaying fish, sulfur, and algae bloom. Then Berta, who’d been so calm, sank to her knees, her eyes darting about, and croaked in a wavering voice, “Dagon lives. Mighty Dagon. Dagon. Dagon. Dagon.”

The bird joined in as a chorus, “Dagon, Dagon, Dagon.”

Having no idea to whom or what they referenced, I was struck for a moment with total conviction that Berta, and perhaps the parrot, knew some secret of infinite portent. I utterly believed them, the words a carillon to my ears. I took a deep breath. This wouldn’t do at all. I’m sure it was just what Carrie had been worried about, one of us crazy people acting crazy at the normal-people party.


Buy Links:
Universal

AUTHOR BIO

Kathy L. Brown writes speculative fiction with a historical twist. Her hometown— St. Louis, Missouri, USA—and its history inspires much of her fiction.

The haunted 1920s world of the Sean Joye Investigations book series was conceived in a creative writing workshop in 2004. The idea wouldn’t go away, and Kathy published two Sean Joye novellas while working on her first novel, The Big Cinch, released by the Montag Press Collective in December 2021. The Big Cinch won the 2022 Imadjinn award for best urban fantasy novel.

After spending the pandemic editing and publishing a secondary-world young adult fantasy, Wolfhearted, Kathy wrote the next Sean Joye investigation, The Talking Cure. It will be published in November 2025. A Sean Joye short story, “The Pixie Job,” appears in the 2024 Marathonarium Anthology: Volume II.

Currently she is preparing a high fantasy novella in the Wolfhearted world for publication in 2026. Learn more at kathylbrown.com.

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